


Butterfly Nights

by silvia8917



Category: Natsume Yuujinchou | Natsume's Book of Friends
Genre: Case Fic, Light Angst, M/M, Mystery, Parallel Universes, Youkai, but things will be wrapped up in the end, cw: brief description of near-drowning, the first three chapters may seem unrelated at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-25 18:20:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15646323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silvia8917/pseuds/silvia8917
Summary: The world splits into three after the stormy night.In one world, Seiji makes contract with a youkai and acquires a personal shiki. The handsome shiki has blond hair and red eyes and is fond of acting.In one world, Shuuichi accepts the Matoba clan’s request to banish a band of youkai. The youkai’s leader wears a black kimono and hides his face and ponytail behind an oil-paper umbrella.In one world, Matoba and Natori watch butterflies fly above a lake.





	1. Prologue — Before the Thunderous Night

The youkai jumps. The arrow hits green water. A little white puddle of foam emerges beside a floating paper shiki.

 

A disapproving hiss behind the bow.

 

‘What are you doing here?!’

 

‘Mind your own business.’

 

A muttered reply follows, unheard.

 

The arrow sinks under water. The forlorn paper soaks and lies feebly. The waterfall growls and the lake mocks, flaunting their superiority to man-made ineptness.

 

The air is stoic. Dark grey clouds stare ominously. Small rain drops fly and descend slowly.

 

The two exorcists survey their surrounding for signs of the hiding youkai. Their feet shift slowly and cautiously as slippery rocks try to trip them up.

 

Close to them stands a lone tree springing miraculously from a narrow crevice, its reflection in the lake demure.

 

They look around, step tentatively, and look around again. Waterfall, lake, rocks, tree. Waterfall, lake, rocks, tree. Waterfall, lake, rocks, a woman clad in a dark purple kimono approaches.

 

‘Nanase-san?’

 

She treads through the rocky ground in haste, waving her arm to get the two men’s attention, hair in disarray.

 

A squint later, a hand reaches behind the back, brushes past an oil-paper umbrella and lands on the quiver.

 

‘You’re early this month.’

 

There is no right eye behind greying hair strands. A gasp is followed by a hand pulling out a paper chain swiftly from an inner pocket. The other hand tightens its grip on the charmed wooden staff.

 

Rain falls, drawing small and shallow swirls on the lake.

 

The arrow readies itself on the bow string. Aim for the target, the refined but fake purple kimono — do not be distracted by the other youkai, grey with an indistinct shape, which is materialising behind the brown tree trunk. An archer must not waver.

 

Paper flies towards the grey youkai, stalls and falls as drizzle distends to downpour.

 

A storm is forming fast. Wild wind and rain join in the waterfall’s howl and help the sly rocks unbalance.

 

Aiming becomes difficult. More wavering.

 

Thunder does not need targets. Its only desire is to strike.

 

Exorcists and youkai.

 

Bellowing waterfall, mocking lake, cunning rocks, lonely tree.


	2. Floating Paper Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In one world, Seiji makes contract with a youkai and acquires a personal shiki. The handsome shiki has blond hair and red eyes and is fond of acting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone likes to listen to music while reading, I think [this song](https://youtu.be/VUfMsIB6sJE) fits this chapter pretty well. The song title, Yokubomono, can be translated as 'The Desirer'.
> 
> By the way, since there is a scene involving wisteria in this chapter, here is a **warning** that wisteria seeds, pods, stems and raw leaves are toxic and thus inedible. Wisteria flowers are edible if consumed in moderation, as far as I know. (You will know why this warning is needed once you read this chapter. lol)
> 
> So, without further ado.

That night, Matoba Seiji stares blankly at the shadows of the seething storm behind translucent paper doors. Their rage fills his ears, mind and heart.

 

* * *

 

The election assistant calls out in a feeble and weary voice. Half way out, Seiji turns around. Lying among the heaps of banners, fliers, posters and props designed for the election campaign is his neglected umbrella. Seiji mentally remarks that it blends in nicely with garbage.

 

He does not want to, but takes it. Murmuring an impassive thanks to the assistant, he leaves and forgets what she looks straightaway. He neither remembers the face of the politician he just met and made a deal with.

 

It is sunny outside the building where his client works, but the head of the Matoba clan is not allowed to abandon his oil-paper umbrella simply due to weather.

 

If he opens it, its traditional snake’s eye pattern will stand out in the street. Its sharp contrast against his modern business suit can even earn him some odd looks from pedestrians. But he has no desire to do so. He lets the sun blaze on his black suit.

 

The pavement is narrower than usual, half of it fended off by hideously red traffic cones. Behind the cones stand cameras, shotgun mics hanging from boom poles, lights taller and wider than a person — a film set.

 

Without much interest in either moving or staying, Seiji stops and turns, almost lifelessly.

 

A sobbing woman, an actress playing her role, emerges from the left in a pale-coloured dress. Her steps are rushed but unsteady — probably a result of covering her face behind one hand.

 

A man soon follows, running and panting, his suit not unlike Seiji’s (all suits look similar) but in grey. He calls out to the woman, and she turns to face him dramatically. The camera moves to her billowing hair for a clichéd, slow-motion close-up that Seiji does not care about.

 

He is bored in five seconds. The unmemorable heroine, the what’s-his-face listening to her incoherent mumbling; everything pales and withers under sunlight. Glory is not for the weak.

 

The black mass of equipment looms a safe distance away. The air does not move.

 

How many more vapid performances must he endure? Today? Tomorrow? All the days to come?

 

He does not want this. He is just a withering weakling who fails.

 

The things he does not want come anyway. Like a flood.

 

The sun on his thick, black suit is smothering. Even his vision is hazy.

 

Mr Dull says his line —

 

So does another voice, gentle, but one that Seiji hears clearly. His eyes widen.

 

_‘Come with me.’_

 

Seiji hears it as clearly as he can hear the New Year bell — the thick wooden beam hitting the large, bronze temple bell. A resonance that crushes the fog in one’s mind.

 

He raises his head.

 

No human can stay on that thin boom pole while lying on just the stomach and casually crossed legs. But there _he_ is, light and airy and sparkling. The white kimono shines as it reflects the sun — again, an unusual colour choice by human men’s standard. Conspicuous, with bright red adorning its openings and permeating the obi around the waist. Flamboyant. So like _him_. Someone born for sparkling under sunlight.

 

Chin resting on one hand, the striking blonde head turns to face Seiji.

 

Seiji has thought about that face often. Seen it too, until not long ago — until a life ago.

 

The only thing he has never seen is a red, curving mark on the forehead.

 

The longingly missed red eyes are sharp and pierce through his pounding heart.

 

* * *

 

That night, Seiji reads. His eyes go dry from cramming in too much information. It hurts but Seiji keeps them open.

 

* * *

 

The rest of the movie is shot indoor, in a film studio standing at the foot of a mountain. An exorcist, even a well-established one (the most well-established one), has no reason to enter.

 

Seiji meets _his_ eyes for a split second before those eyes disappear behind cement walls. It is too little, it is not enough, it is —

 

Complaint is useless, Seiji chides himself.

 

_No._

 

* * *

 

That night, Seiji busies himself with planning. He goes to bed tired but satisfied.

 

* * *

 

The most feared exorcist in the country gets in anyway. He has his methods. He even blends in. Suspicious pony-tailed man wearing a dark kimono and an eyepatch — probably a side cast in the period drama at Studio 3.

 

His target jumps from one film set to another and occasionally follows a location shooting, Seiji finds out. _His_ favourite pastime is to mimic (and, as it appears, outperform) the lead actors and actresses.

 

Is _he_ also pretending to be someone who does not know (does not remember?) Matoba Seiji, giving the exorcist just the briefest and most neutral glance, as if looking at a new extra? _He_ smiles and greets the ones _he_ remembers (without being seen or heard — the extras are not even qualified to).

 

The best acting is less real than this. There is not even hate in those red eyes.

 

 _He_ does not even hate Matoba Seiji.

 

Seiji closes his eyes _._ To think.

 

Film studios are busy settlements. Crews pay no mind to the change of day and night. It gives him time.

 

Nail marks remain on his palm even after he unclenches his fist, but the pain can be ignored.

 

He reopens his eyes and does not waste a single second. His steps are determined and quick. Circling the building takes him no time. He almost runs into the forest.

 

The soil and air are damp, but not enough to slow his charge up the slope. Then he hears the lizards.

 

At first it is only leaves rustling on one side. But at the moment a gigantic, triangular, brown head pokes out from the green, noises buzz from the other side. He turns just in time to see a tiny blue gecko disappearing behind a tree trunk.

 

He follows the blue lizard’s direction. Instinct tells him he should. He begins to hear and see more of them — of more colours, shapes and sizes he thought was possible for lizards (not that he paid much attention to biology classes at school). Sometimes they stay quietly on tree branches, but when they move, it is always in the same direction. Up.

 

Instinct also tells him that not everyone can see them.

 

It gets dimmer, and dimmer. The sky is darkening. What little light there is increasingly gets blocked by the thickening tree shades above head. The lizards, unhindered by darkness, move quickly. Seiji hastens, even if it means exerting more energy to tramp uphill.

 

There is light at the far end.

 

 _Flamboyant_.

 

Seiji feels the corner of his mouth curling up as he reaches the open space.

 

A splendid wisteria tree stands in the middle, its blooming crown far stretching, light purple gaining a darker and ethereal hue as night approaches. Seiji does not see wisterias often, and never one this large and impressive.

 

He cannot smell its scent from his position and is tempted to rectify this by closing the distance, like what the green lizard trio crawling past his right foot are doing. But he remembers what he comes here for.

 

* * *

 

That night, when Seiji returns to his house, he receives report that the mayor’s eldest son has gifted him a bonsai. A money tree. Miniature. Green. Just green. Pot also green. Costs a lot, apparently.

 

He orders that a note of thanks be written by a clan member more prolific in flowery language.

 

* * *

 

Seiji feels the glare before he sees it. In response, he brings closer a long vine of blooming wisteria. Not satisfied with just its scent, he lets out his tongue to actually _lick_ and taste the purple sweetness —

 

A hand tries to grasp but Seiji is faster. With a swift step and turn, he can now see the white kimono amid purple vines. He licks again —

 

The hand tries again but is sidestepped a second, third, and fourth time. The vines and smaller branches flutter with their movement. The small petal in Seiji’s grip begins to lose taste, so his mouth moves to another —

 

‘Stop!’

 

Seiji retreats his tongue, opting to caress the purple darling with a finger instead. He smiles wryly at the sight of a partly angered, partly flustered _youkai_ — the smile fades. He averts his eyes and curls the wisteria vine around two fingers.

 

‘S-Just stop!’

 

‘You mean this?’ Seiji tilts his head, raising the hand now intertwined in flowers. ‘Of all things?’

 

‘Stop _everything_. Or is it a fight you seek, _exorcist_?’

 

Seiji wonders how a fight with him will go. Imagine the wisteria following his command — flowers taste a lot sweeter than paper shiki, but are they also more lethal? He wants to see it.

 

‘But I am not seeking to fight.’ The fighting stance does not relax upon Seiji’s reply. He changes the topic. ‘You avoided my traps all the way to here.’ The same cannot be said of the numerous lizard youkai that are currently struggling inside the runic circles he has drawn in this mountain, without a voice to plea for help. The purple wisteria crown Seiji stands under is now reptile-free.

 

Except one black and red lizard that chooses this moment to stick its ugly, triangular head out. Clinging to the protection of a finely-shaped shoulder clad in white, it sends its best dirty look to the intruder of reptilian peace. Seiji returns the greeting with unapologetic mirth.

 

‘Who asked you to exorcise the lizards? Humans don’t even step into this mountain, not before you…’ It is not only the resemblance in looks, Seiji assesses as he recalls memories of a certain voice — expressive of suspicion and anger, not yet veiled in strained politeness. Belonging to the early days. Belonging to the days of amateur experiments and school uniforms, of snatching snacks under the table and loquats. This voice is an exact match for those precious adolescent memories, even though appearance-wise, the speaker fits the more recent images a lot better.

 

_Do not dwell on memories. Grasp what you have. Now._

 

‘You haven’t told me how you avoided the runes. You’re also assuming that I’m doing this because someone asked me.’ Seiji chooses his words carefully. ‘It is rare for a youkai to _remember_ so much about the work of exorcists.’ A bait.

 

Is ignored. ‘There’s nothing to tell. I just know they’re traps. It was you who barred the studio too!’

 

‘You weren’t hurt.’

 

‘I couldn’t go in again once I was out.’

 

‘Well,’ Seiji brushes the flower petal he has been licking with a thumb. It is still wet. ‘That part was intended.’ He is confident about his spell work.

 

‘Why? I didn’t harm anyone! They didn’t even know I was there!’ _He_ closes his distance and glowers.

 

The threat does not work on Seiji, who simply drinks in the vivacity in those red eyes. He puts away the vine of wisteria, causing several other vines to swing along with it.

 

Their red eyes never break contact.

 

 _He_ pulls back when Seiji steps forward. Seiji takes a few more steps, flowers brushing across his forehead, his seal on the right eye, his cheeks. ‘If you _did_ harm someone, I’d be right to exorcise you — is that what you meant? Interesting perspective for a youkai.’

 

 _He_ does not respond to Seiji’s provocation, but just backs away. Seiji narrows his eyes in frustration and tries to draw closer _again_ and _again_. He stops as he reaches the periphery of the wisteria crown, keeping both of them under the purple shade.

 

 _His_ voice is low when it breaks the silence. ‘No one was harming anyone before you came.’ The exorcist does not reply, does not deny. ‘What do you want?’

 

‘My name is Seiji. Will you join me?’ Seiji smiles at the confused look he receives. ‘Surely you have heard of _shiki_?’

 

‘… You want a shiki? You, an exorcist, don’t already have one?’

 

‘I command the shiki serving my clan. Houses that have merged with us also brought in their own ones. But you need not show yourself to my clan.’ It may not be wise to, Seiji does not say. He keeps up his smile, hoping it will appear inviting. ‘You only have to stay beside me.’

 

‘You don’t trust your clan members, so you want a shiki for yourself only?’

 

‘If that explanation satisfies you.’ Seiji is pleased by the cool regard of those red eyes. Then his own eye wanders to the forehead, to the mark that feels less and less alien each time he looks. ‘If you agree, I’ll lift the curses on your… friends.’

 

 _He_ glances at the triangular-headed lizard at _his_ shoulder, and the ugly little youkai glances back.

 

‘If I don’t agree, you’ll make sure that I have nowhere else to go until I do so?’

 

Seiji laughs heartily. The scent of wisteria is sweet and cozy, and the purple flowers look like exquisitely crafted patterns on their black haori and white kimono.

 

‘I should give my shiki a name. What do you think of “Shuu”?’

 

* * *

 

That night, Seiji takes a secluded walk in the forest near the Matoba house. Nothing is said by him or the shiki following him under the new moon. Listening to the sound of dry fallen leaves cracking under the pressure his straw zori, he feels more serene than he has been in the past few months.

 

When he returns to the house, servants are cleaning oil-paper umbrellas with a small cloth to ensure that they are fit for reuse. The overseer bows to Seiji before berating a long-necked, white-faced shiki for scrubbing with too much force. (‘Oiled paper is still paper, for pit’s sake!’)

 

The white-faced shiki scrubs more gingerly than before.

 

A younger Seiji once said, ‘If there were any ayakashi that would make contracts with me, I would surely treasure it.’

 

* * *

 

Bringing in a secret shiki is not the most eventful experience Seiji has had. Shuu’s biggest task to date is to remain a secret. It is only wise for the shiki and the master to meet when no one else, human or youkai, is around.

 

Seiji sips his hot green tea while seated on a dark brown zafu, casually cross-legged. Across the low, wooden table, Shuu mimics conversations between Matoba clan members. Ayakashi, umbrellas, spells — their topics are so similar that exchanges occurring at different times and venues all blend smoothly into one complete act.

 

Each bespectacled clan member adjusts their eyeglasses differently. Shuu’s demonstration is mingled with self-praise about noticing and replicating such minute variances — ‘Being observant is the sign of a talented actor,’ apparently. The smugness in his smile and voice is enchanting. Listening with his chin on one hand, Seiji wonders what he can offer in return.

 

‘I can teach you archery.’

 

Shuu stops. ‘I thought I was a shiki, not an apprentice. And why archery? Isn’t that…’

 

‘It is a great art.’ Seiji replies, not unproudly. ‘And why not? It’s very useful.’

 

Shuu moves to the side on which the tall bow of the Matoba clan head lies, wrapped beside the tea cup. Seiji’s gaze never leaves the curious hand approaching and hovering above the knot that ties the blue cloth.

 

The hand pulls back. ‘How much of this is about _actual_ archery, and how much is it about the exorcist’s own power? Will the arrow be as deadly to a youkai if it’s wielded by someone with great skills but little power?’

 

‘Will my answer influence your answer?’ Seiji moves closer.

 

‘What answer?’ Shuu glances a bit warily at his approaching master. An arm encloses his back and grasps the table at the other side of his waist, effectively blocking the road to escape.

 

‘Whether you will learn it.’ Seiji whispers in his shiki’s ear.

 

Shuu frowns. Seiji keeps gazing, closely watching him look away and think.

 

Smoke is stilled coming out from the abandoned hot tea.

 

The sound of footsteps — multiple pairs of footsteps — prompts Shuu to break away and leave without giving an answer. Seiji feels sick with annoyance.

 

* * *

 

That night, Seiji inspects a new batch of arrows in a foul mood. The craftsman keeps commenting on how rare it is of the Matobas to insist on using brass arrowheads.

 

‘They don’t even use metals for hamaya now. No point making them so heavy. It’s only about being pretty decorations in ceremonies, no? They don’t really do anything like their name says. “Demon-breaking arrows”? Haha, don’t you agree? But perhaps it’s the most prestigious customers who are the most traditional? … Did you meet that councillor the other day … ?’

 

Seiji keeps his face blank to hide his headache. He just wants to go to bed.

 

* * *

 

He _is_ getting weaker, Seiji realises with horror. Little by little.

 

Not spiritual power — even with just one eye, he still sees every youkai clearly. He can even point out distinct details and use this to mock mediocre exorcists. (And he can always look for the kimono on the tree, if he wants to be sure.)

 

But the eye with which he sees is heavier to keep open. The arm he raises to point refuses to be held up longer. The voice he uses to mock needs exertion to be heard.

 

Even the walk from the meeting hall to his private room seems unreal. His head feels as weighty as lead, while his legs move like they are floating on foam.

 

He hears his own soft, low moan as he lies down, eyes already closed. As he is about to fall asleep, a cool palm falls on his forehead.

 

His eyes are heavy but he opens them to see Shuu.

 

He will always open them to see Shuu.

 

‘No fever. Just tired? It is still early.’ Shuu’s voice reminds him of a warm bath in winter.

 

‘Tired.’

 

He should take Shuu to see the kimono on the tree. If Shuu is Seiji’s shiki now, he will be able to see every pattern on that deep red cloth, will he not?

 

Seiji jerks up. The abrupt action makes him dizzy, but he does not blink once. He pulls Shuu towards him as he thinks, connecting the dots between what he knows and what he sees. They are so close. Shuu’s confusion is clear even with just a half moon shining through open paper windows.

 

* * *

 

That night, Seiji’s hands tremble as he flips open a thread-bound volume that is rarely perused by Matoba leaders — they seldom need to equip themselves against this particular branch of threat. Everyone knows that it is more effective to lure them with power than anything else.

 

He has just begun reading on hone-onna before a knock on the wooden doorframe interrupts him. As he listens to the report of suspected youkai activity in a lake, he tries to focus on the ache in his head instead of the dread in his chest.

 

* * *

 

‘Hide-and-seek?’

 

‘Don’t you know how to play it?’

 

‘Who doesn’t? But why? And don’t you need to rest?’

 

Seiji rises slowly from the boulder he was sitting on, supporting himself with one arm. Feeling Shuu’s eyes on the trembling arm, he tries to distract his shiki with a smile. ‘Just do as you are told. _Be a good shiki._ ’ He laughs heartily at Shuu’s glare but has to cut the laughter short when a sharp pain bites at his chest. He restrains the urge to cough and keeps smiling. ‘Fresh air makes me feel better.’

 

Shuu eventually relents, with a small puff in one cheek and a muttered ‘how old are you’. He turns, and then turns back. ‘You promise you’re not doing anything to the lizards this time?’

 

‘I promise.’

 

Shuu turns again, and then turns back, looking grumpier than before. An internal debate seems to have passed before he says, ‘… if you need anything, just call my name. As you said, I’m your shiki and I’ll be able to find you.’

 

‘Finding me should not be that easy. That’s the point of hide-and-seek.’

 

The sheer shock and exasperation on Shuu’s face is delightful.

 

Indeed Seiji does not intend to be found easily. Once Shuu closes his eyes and starts counting, Seiji puts on a mask to hide his human scent and heads for a secluded spot where he can easily see but not be seen. Under a willow whose trunk is so short that the vines easily drape all over the ground, it is a well-concealed spot he found while throwing lizard-trapping curses around the mountain.

 

With his mask on, the lizards he passes by do not recognise the man who tormented them. Nobody pays him any attention as he walks.

 

It is not a long time since his last uphill stride, but this time he finds the walk much more taxing. As he steps into the shade of the willow tree, he almost wants to throw himself on the soft, moist ground as he pants heavily. If he does not have serious business to attend to, he does not care how he appears to the boy and cat that are already there, impatiently waiting for his arrival.

 

Natsume Takashi is exuding a more-than-usual amount of reluctance at seeing the Matoba clan head. Seiji feels it clearly even though the boy has his expression hidden by a mask and his frame obscured by the lack of light beneath the willow vines. The normally cordial boy even looks a tinge ominous in the darkness. Cat-like green eyes glint behind the mask, reminding Seiji of the power they hold.

 

Natsume-kun speaks stiffly. ‘I only came because you said this was about —’ He turns away, unable to say the name aloud. The guardian cat sits on his shoulder, constantly scrutinising (another pair of slanting cat eyes with crushing power). ‘Were you really telling the truth?’

 

‘I speak as much truth as I can see,’ Seiji is not affected by the expected hostility. ‘But what can _you_ see? That’s the question. Look over there —’ He points outside. Everything looks brighter than usual when they stand behind the willow shade.

 

‘Look over there — _What do you see?_ ’

 

Seiji sees a handsome being that is steadily surveying all directions to seek his hiding master. His white attire, adorned with red, glows like an irresistible light to those who are shrouded in darkness.

 

Seiji’s eyes linger on him despite Natsume-kun’s horrified gasp.

 

The boy grasps on the sleeve of Seiji’s kimono. Never has Seiji seen him as agitated as this, arms shaking as he pulls at the fabric. His voice trembles similarly. ‘What — what is — that? _What did you do?_ ’ The questions are laden with shock — and anger.

 

Seiji smiles a thin smile which no one can see under his mask. ‘I’d like to know as well. What did you see?’

 

‘That’s paper! N-Natori-san’s paper shiki!’ Natsume’s grip tightens. Seiji does not move. ‘I’ve seen one this big only once before… as big as a person… I saw it the night I first knew Natori-san… but…’

 

‘But?’

 

‘This one is _hurt_!’

 

Natsume Takashi always cares about youkai. Seiji did not understand it before.

 

‘It has crumples and tears and even blood all over it, and it’s missing a corner — the part where the right leg should be, it was torn away! A damaged paper shiki, that’s what it is!’

 

> _… A ‘hone-onna’ is a dead woman returning from the grave, sometimes out of love, sometimes out of hatred, but always with intense emotions and desires. Until these emotions and desires are fulfilled, the ‘bone woman’ cannot rest peacefully in eternity. The man she targets sees her as young and beautiful, while others see through the youkai’s true form, a rotting, foul skeleton. They often warn the man out of a good heart, but the youkai never stops visiting. Not even realising her own death, she only becomes more alluring with each visit. When the infatuated human cannot find the heart to reject his youkai pursuer, his life force will be drained away …_

 

Seiji does not feel dread. He feels a burning curiosity. Like a top-speed woodpecker bumping its head into the tree trunk.

 

_Shuu._

_What are your_ intense emotions and desires _?_

_What did you_ want _?_

_How_ much _do you want it?_

Ever since the moment Seiji meets Shuu, he wants so much that he forgoes everything else.

Forgoes sorrow. (Natsume is still holding onto his arm. The anguished tremble continues.)

 

Forgoes guilt. (‘What have you done?’ the boy chokes in tears.)

 

He just _wants_.

 

‘Why is the paper shiki like that? Why is it missing the right leg? Isn’t that what Natori-san…’ Natsume-kun’s questions drifts through Seiji’s mind like water in a sieve.

 

‘Is that what he wants?’

 

Seiji’s murmur to himself infuriates Natsume-kun. ‘Don’t you know! You were there! And still couldn’t stop it! You…’

 

Amid increasingly loud background noises, Seiji concentrates on his own thoughts.

 

_Is it what you want, Shuu?_

_Draining life? Retribution?_

_Not particularly menacing to a Matoba._

_You’re always too kind._

 

‘Shush, Natsume-kun,’ Seiji finally speaks. ‘Don’t let him find me so easily. We’re playing hide-and-seek.’

 

He pulls away from the boy’s grip. He has got his confirmation and no longer has reason to stay.

 

‘ _Exorcist_ ,’ his fingers are on the willow vines when the cat-shaped youkai warns. ‘If you don’t want to die, you’d better do something now.’

 

Seiji turns slowly. The boy and the cat are both standing and watching him silently in semi-darkness. There is no concern, only cool scrutiny.

 

How funny, he feels like an actor on stage.

 

_So be it._

 

Keeping his gaze on his spectators, he parts the willow vines with one hand and takes off his mask with the other, revealing a cold, thin smile.

 

‘I will _not_ die here,’ he says, turning back to his self-made exit. ‘That’s why I’m staying, isn’t it?’

 

A drizzle started when he was staying under the willow tree. Cold droplets fall on him through the gaps among taller, sparser trees. The droplets become bigger and more forceful every second. He shivers, but walks resolutely. With the mask gone, the scent of his human, exorcist, _Matoba_ blood can be smelt by all youkai in his vicinity. Only one of them approaches. Despite their distance, and despite the fatigue that makes it difficult to keep his eyes open, Seiji can see the smug smile stretching on Shuu’s handsome face.

 

‘Found you.’

 

‘Is that so?’ Seiji whispers, also smiling.

 

_I want. I want._

_Do you even remember what you want? You don’t even remember me._

_I remember everything. Even more clearly than before._

 

_I remember what I want._

 

They move towards each other in the rain. Shuu stops at arm’s length but Seiji pulls the shiki towards him. When his lips touch Shuu’s, he feels how similar they are to the pouring rain — cold.

 

But neither coldness nor exhaustion can stop him from deepening the kiss.

 

There will likely be no second chance, so he wills the first and last chance to last an eternity.

 

Eternity ends when he feels Shuu recovering from shock and starting to struggle. With both hands still cupping Shuu’s face, Seiji looks directly into his favourite red eyes and says, ‘ _Find me always._ ’

 

_Whoever, wherever, whenever you are._

_Why do you look afraid?_

 

* * *

 

That night, a small paper shiki slips into Seiji’s room. It passes through the window seam and lands on his wooden table, its swift motion revealing power from a well-practised hand. Seiji picks it up. The size fits into his palm, and the smell of fresh, new paper is strong. Completely intact, not a single sign of damage.

 

After he reads the message, his gaze falls on the name scribbled in black ink at the bottom left.

 

 _Natori Shuuichi_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have used hone-onna as fic inspiration before, though in another fandom. You can tell I like such cheesy stories, eh. lol
> 
> The next chapter will be posted tomorrow.


	3. Sinking Arrow Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In one world, Shuuichi accepts the Matoba clan’s request to banish a band of youkai. The youkai’s leader wears a black kimono and hides his face and ponytail behind an oil-paper umbrella.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few very minor things have been rephrased in the previous chapters, but nothing is significant enough to require a reread.
> 
> For this chapter, I recommend [this song](https://youtu.be/SX_ViT4Ra7k). You can turn on/off English subtitles if you want to!

That night, Natori Shuuichi cleans the balcony in his apartment. Moving his arms mechanically, he wipes away water and sweeps off dust and leaves that were left by the previous night’s rainstorm. Little noise is made. It is not much work and the balcony is soon clean — and completely empty.

 

* * *

 

Despite the presence of numerous Matoba clansmen, the main house is silent. With almost everyone distracted by their own distress, Shuuichi easily avoids attention. Flanked by two mouthless Matoba shiki, he enters a tatami room, bows slightly, and slips into a polite seiza position behind the low wooden table.

 

‘Thank you for coming, young Natori.’

 

Shuuichi makes another small bow and greets the woman sitting opposite him. He does not comment on Nanase-san’s weary voice.

 

Nanase-san launches business immediately. ‘As you can guess, we’re rather busy at the moment. So we’d like to elicit your help in dealing with a slight disturbance so as to focus on more… time-consuming tasks.’

 

‘Is the clan certain that…?’ The question is irresistible to start but impossible to complete. Saying things aloud may make them final.

 

‘As certain as we can be, without finding the body or any actual clues.’ Shuuichi tries his best not to wince in front of Nanase-san, but she is not looking at him, anyway. ‘Even if he is still alive somewhere, not returning after all this time can only be taken as abandoning his post as the head of the Matoba clan.’

 

Abandoning his post? _That_ person?

 

There is no reason to object. Keeping his expression blank, Shuuichi reminds himself that he never knows what _that person_ feels — felt — _feels_ about the post. He never knows what it actually feels like to carry the weight of a clan on one’s shoulders. Will never know.

 

A change of topic is due.

 

‘Please tell me about the “slight disturbance” you mentioned. I’d like to do whatever I can to help.’

 

Nanase-san sighs deeply. It takes several long seconds before she begins, with more resignation than Shuuichi has expected, ‘We’re being attacked by the umbrellas.’

 

* * *

 

That night, Shuuichi reads and rereads the movie script that his manager gave him earlier, trying to memorise all his lines before going to bed. He is going to play an alien prince who devises many outlandish schemes to woo the human girl he has mistaken to be his fiancée, but despite this being a ‘fantasy romantic comedy’, Shuuichi is not amused even once.

 

When you have already seen too many absurdities, any new ‘wonderland’ will only look dull.

 

* * *

 

Tread more cautiously than ever, says Shuuichi’s hunch about Nanase-san’s assignment. This is why he takes time to observe every movement outside a smaller, rather dated Matoba property before entering it. Peeking through a small hole in the tall bamboo fence, he purposefully ignores the name plate (ink black ‘ _Matoba_ ’ on wood) that almost touches his chin.

 

He can only see part of the stone path leading to the right half of the front door. Weeds sprout sporadically among the gravel, some of them a bit yellow. He is certain that the house is not empty today, but he can detect neither movement nor sound. Should he switch to another hole among the bamboo poles, or simply walk into the garden?

 

_Slurp._

 

Something that feels like a large, soaked towel drops on his head. It is gone as soon as it comes. Shuuichi looks up immediately, only to see a shadow jumping down the other side of the fence. It moves too quickly for him to discern its shape, but it is definitely too small to be human.

 

A few quick steps bring Shuuichi to the unlocked entrance. He bursts into the front garden and runs after the ayakashi which has just disappeared behind the corner of the wooden house.

 

Yells of surprise can be heard from within the house — the ayakashi has gone indoor.

 

Shuuichi hesitates, but not for long. With one hand on the tail of paper chain in his pocket, he uses the other hand to take his shoes off. Leaving them on the gravel, he then climbs onto the elevated engawa corridor. The wood creaks loudly as he takes one more step and slides the paper door open —

 

There are not just one, but more than twenty. Hopping on the floor in unison with their handle-turned-leg, their sounds muffled by the tatami mats, are a neat line of oil-paper umbrellas. With their canopies closed, they stand close to each other in their monotone dance. Their rhythm is steady, their movement unperturbed by the screams of Matoba clansmen in neighbouring rooms.

 

They each have one eye, Shuuichi can see this much from his spot. They are all facing the same direction, but he will need to step into the room to discover what they are looking at.

 

‘ _Oya_.’

 

 _That_ soft, taunting voice. Shuuichi’s hands start shaking involuntarily.

 

‘Entering someone else’s house without knocking or greeting. How rude.’

 

As if this is important now. Shuuichi slides the door fully open with utmost force and bursts into the room. The wooden door frame clashes against the wall and gives a loud _bang_.

 

The umbrella youkai ignore him. Their dark legs continue to poke at the light-coloured tatami.

 

Something falls at the far end of the room, dropped mid-air by someone. Another oil-paper umbrella. It is still open; the _janome_ pattern on its canopy is easily recognisable — a large, black circle in the centre, surrounded by a ring of white, then more black. Shuuichi stares at the _snake’s eye_ and it stares back at him.

 

The janomegasa falls to the ground, its sound indistinct among the other umbrellas’ regimented dance. No one is behind. Whoever dropped it has left.

 

* * *

 

That night, Shuuichi has a late read-through session for the alien prince romcom. When he leaves the studio, the sky is drizzling. All his co-actors slip into cars or their agency’s mini-vans while he alone walks absent-mindedly to the train station. His hair eventually gets wet in the rain.

 

There is an old, plain, folding umbrella in his bag, but tonight he is stubborn about not hiding his face behind it. Better to let the rain fall on him.

 

In the movie, there is a scene in which the heroine hands the prince a bottle of sparkling water. The alien pours it over his head, thinking this can make flowers grow there.

 

* * *

 

Shuuichi would like to believe that he is better prepared this time. But here he is, doing nothing productive but kneeling on the ground, glaring at an umbrella with immense frustration.

 

‘Go away,’ he orders.

 

The single-eyed umbrella youkai, which has a dark red canopy with two rings of white towards the tips, turns around and hops away.

 

‘No,’ Shuuichi changes his mind. ‘Go into that circle.’

 

The red paper umbrella turns again. With its one large eye, it looks at Shuuichi, and then at the runic circle he is pointing at, and then at Shuuichi, and then at the circle again.

 

At last it hops obediently into the exorcising spell Shuuichi has drawn. Thunder strikes the moment it enters the ring, and the youkai disappears with a loud ‘Woohoo!’ Why it sounds excited to be exorcised, and why it has willingly entered the circle in the first place, Shuuichi does not even want to know.

 

Nothing in the umbrella youkai’s appearance suggests that they are anything more than ordinary karakasa kozou. Lacking any great power, they are easy to deal with and can often be plainly ignored. Yet according to Nanase-san’s intel —

 

‘Aaaaaaarrrrrgh!!!!!’

 

A wet coldness at the back of his head cuts into his train of thoughts. He turns and is annoyed (but not surprised, not anymore) to see another karakasa kozou. It has a brown canopy, with a large, thick tongue sticking out under its single eye.

 

Successfully making Shuuichi look at it seems to have raised its enthusiasm. The exorcist’s vision is soon filled with tongue as the youkai licks his cheek like an over-excited puppy.

 

Shuuichi has never seen a puppy less cute.

 

‘Aaaarrrgh — STOP! STOP!!!!!’

 

The kozou stops obediently, but this is as disconcerting as the licking.

 

Anyhow, its saliva has blurred Shuuichi’s glasses completely. He takes them off and wipes them with the hem of his shirt. Meanwhile the sleeves are enlisted for drying his face. The motion gets frustrating as he wants to be quick but must avoid having the shirt’s coarser fabric leave permanent scratches on the lenses.

 

The kozou watches him demurely.

 

When his face is at least not dripping umbrella saliva, Shuuichi conveys his displeasure to the youkai (whose outline has become a little less sharp) with his bare red eyes.

 

One big eye stares back at him, noticeably devoid of guilt. The tip of the youkai’s tongue, which is still sticking out of its mouth, flickers slightly.

 

‘Go. There.’ He points to another runic circle, this time of fiery nature, a few steps away from the first spell. Inwardly, he reminds himself that he is a proper, established exorcist and fights off the mental image of an exasperated parent grounding his kid.

 

Like its red counterpart, the brown umbrella obeys Shuuichi’s order. It disappears with an ‘Oh Yeah!’ in the middle of the fire ring, which throws sparks towards its ‘guest’ like confetti.

 

As Shuuichi puts his glasses back on and stands up, a third kozou (this time with a blue and black canopy) immediately appears to shower his left knee with wet affection.

 

A fourth appears while he is drawing a water spell on the ground.

 

During their earlier meeting, Nanase-san told him, ‘We haven’t had the time to go through all available options, but the first few tries to exorcise the kozou didn’t go as smoothly as expected. They disappeared — and always came back. And there are simply too many of them. It’s every single umbrella in all Matoba settlements — we stack umbrellas in all our houses just in case, and if you didn’t know already, we have quite a few houses.’

 

If she could have mentioned the kozou’s passion for licking and being exorcised instead of _Matoba’s riches_.

 

Well, Shuuichi has promised to do what he can, and he has not run out of options yet. There are still many exorcism techniques he can try out. He may not be the most powerful, but he is well-learnt even among exorcists. The pay-off of studying old family scrolls late into many, many dim-lit nights.

 

‘ _Only you would be able to cast such a strange spell._ ’ — He suddenly recalls a comment, spoken with a cocky smile in a locked room.

 

‘ _Splendid._ ’ — Another comment in the same room, softer and less off-handed, would have been easily missed, but Shuuichi heard it all the same.

 

 _That person_ was right there that day, just next to him, and they stared at the wall of falling paper together.

 

Shuuichi forgets when he has closed his eyes, but when he opens them again, he is outdoor and without human company.

 

Just surrounded by more umbrellas.

 

‘Do. Not. Touch. Me.’ His warning seems to keep off the tongues, but the kozou still hop enthusiastically with expectant eyes.

 

Taking out a thin stash of paper talismans from his coat’s inner pocket, Shuuichi sticks them on the umbrellas’ ferrules one by one. This causes the youkai to disappear with ‘Wow!’, ‘Hurray!’, ‘Hippee!’ and other aberrations, none of them appropriate for the situation. He might as well be handing out autographs to fangirls. Should he turn on his actor charm and _smile_?

 

He expects none of his runic circles and talismans to work.

 

Silence returns after the last kozou vanishes (‘Ha ha!’).

 

Shuuichi raises his head and looks around. He is in the garden of a bigger Matoba settlement which is sometimes used for gatherings. He can see the engawa and paper doors at one side. He can see the plants and trees. He can see the little man-made pond at the far end.

 

But he is looking for something else. A black-and-white janomegasa. Not a karakasa kozou, but an ordinary oil-paper umbrella held by someone. One that is as elusive as its owner.

 

He knows _that person_ is here. If not to pick on Shuuichi being ‘soft’, then to simply smirk at his incompetence and wait for the perfect moment to raise the bow.

 

 _That person_ must be doing all this for a reason. But what is it? Shuuichi is tempted to shout his question at the sky.

 

Someone inside the house screams. Shuuichi turns to see a middle-aged man in kimono emerging from one side of the engawa. He knows the man as a Matoba clansman. A karakasa kozou follows, not sticking out its playful tongue this time, but forcefully poking at the man’s back with its hard ferrule.

 

‘S-Stop! It hurts! My back is not good!’ the man yells as he staggers.

 

The umbrella does not listen to his pleas and continues to attack.

 

* * *

 

That night, Shuuichi takes a chair out and studies spell circles at the balcony. With a blanket on his lap, he lets the cool night breeze keep him awake. When he finally closes the old thread-bound volume, everything outside his small safe space is drowning in darkness. The new moon, extremely thin as if reluctant to show itself, only adds to the gloom.

 

* * *

 

Abnormally large umbrella youkai — almost ten times larger than ordinary umbrellas and the karakasa kouzo — are banging at the roof. Under the orchestra of bamboo handles clashing with tiles, Shuuichi sips his green tea with Nanase-san and one of her distant relatives, a Deguchi-san, who is also an exorcist under Matoba’s wing.

 

Shuuichi says simply, ‘ _That person_ ’s here.’

 

‘Indeed?’ Nanase-san pushes up her glasses by pressing a finger tip on their bridge. ‘He’s not showing himself if he is.’ She does not sound concerned.

 

The umbrellas deal a vicious blow. Feeling their legs temporarily leaving their zafu underneath, all three exorcists have to grip at the low wooden table for balance. Their tea cups jump from the wooden surface and fall. Deguchi-san yells as one of his fingers is scorched by spilled hot tea.

 

‘Just get rid of these goddamn suckers already! That’s why you’re here!’ Deguchi-san stares at Shuuichi pointedly and grumbles after finally steadying himself. His rectangular spectacles being lopsided due to the shake, he uses a fat knuckle to re-adjust their position.

 

‘Well, well, manners,’ Nanase-san chides with equal unconcern. ‘At least young Natori has agreed to help us for free this time.’

 

 _Has he?_ It is true that he does not remember talking about prices. His memories of the meeting consist of what Nanase-san told him and where his private thoughts wandered into.

 

‘… Though shouldn’t you have come to the conclusion by now? You’re not a novice, young Natori,’ the elder woman looks directly into Shuuichi’s eyes, as if knowing he has been hiding something all along.

 

Or, rather, hiding _from_ something.

 

‘You’re right, Nanase-san,’ Shuuichi fakes a faint smile and pushes up his glasses with one finger tip on each hinge. ‘The umbrella-turned youkai are clearly sustained by the same source. To exterminate them, one must exterminate the source.’

 

The youkai outside make a loud sound and the room darkens. Then the banging stops. When the exorcists venture outside, they see that the umbrellas have stopped attacking the roof; they have opened their canopies to cover it instead. Raising his head, Shuuichi can only see long bamboo ribs extending from the umbrellas’ multi-coloured top notches. The sky is completely hidden.

 

The youkai start spinning. Then they cackle.

 

While Nanase-san and Deguchi-san are paralysed by the shrill laughter, Shuuichi turns around and darts back into the room.

 

He swears he has heard another laughing voice — a very quiet one, a deep, human chuckle.

 

_Was it what you did then?_

_Is it what you want to do now?_

 

Shuuichi is tempted to shout at the now empty room, where just a minute ago he talked about _exterminating_ the force behind all umbrella youkai.

 

_Facing the end of your life, you laugh?_

 

* * *

 

That night, Shuuichi packs. Participating in a high-profile commercial series, he has to move to another city for two days to shoot the next instalment.

 

He also recites his lines and practises his expressions in front of the mirror. He needs a wide repertoire of reactions as actor. Smile, stoic, shock, sorrow — you name it. Then he practises his heartless chuckle.

 

* * *

 

This is where they last met, Shuuichi realises with unease as he treads on the uphill trail. He picks a good moment to stray from the main road unnoticed, and hears the waterfall before he sees it.

 

Waterfall, lake, rocks, tree. Everything is almost the same as it was when two exorcists fought two youkai. The differences are few:

 

The lone tree is particularly luxuriant today.

 

No ayakashi can be seen.

 

Only one exorcist remains.

 

Shuuichi stands at where _that person_ stood that day. But even when he is standing in the same place and looking at the same direction, he cannot replicate the condescending smile. There is no one he can condescend to. This is not his role.

 

He is about to take a closer look at the lake when he notices an oil-paper umbrella hopping towards him.

 

Shuuichi bursts out without thinking, ‘Keep your tongue inside your mouth — inside your canopy — inside — don’t show it.’

 

The feeble warning is obeyed and the kozou retreats its flickering tongue, but its large eye looks woeful. Shuuichi does not care. His attention is drawn to the umbrella’s colour — black at the centre, then white, then black. The janomegasa that disappeared with its owner near this lake that day.

 

He knows what to say this time. ‘Lead the way,’ he commands resolutely.

 

The umbrella hops into the woods, the same way Shuuichi remembers _that person_ go and never return.

 

What would have happened, if Shuuichi had been the one to pursue this route that day? He has thought hard about the question but always avoided to answer. He is used to being accused of bringing misfortune to people. He can carry on even when he is the one accusing himself.

 

He once convinced himself that he could protect others, and he has now convinced himself that there are still things that he can do and has to do.

 

_Show yourself and show me what you want._

_Why would you need to hide from me?_

 

The monochrome kozou stops. Then it leaps to the side, revealing what is in front. Shuuichi’s eyes widen.

 

Quietly lying on the ground, next to a thick tree root that protrudes from the soil, is a long and thin bundle wrapped in blue cloth. Shuuichi’s knees give way to shock and fall to the ground.

 

He reaches toward the bundle, yet his hand hovers above the knot tying it.

 

Suddenly a shadow is on his back. He turns right away.

 

The black-and-white umbrella is open just a finger’s distance away from his chest, now back to its lifeless state. His heart beats frantically as he realises that it is being held by someone sitting on the ground but not facing him. Only the lower back and the end of a black ponytail are visible behind the canopy.

 

‘Learn to use it,’ the umbrella holder says simply. Shuuichi takes a full second to comprehend that ‘it’ refers to the content of the bundle. ‘Find yourself a good teacher.’

 

He is gone just as Shuuichi tries to grab the ferrule.

 

The bow that belongs to the head of the Matoba clan, wrapped in a blue cloth, waits silently behind Shuuichi.

 

* * *

 

That night, Shuuichi goes to a ramen house for dinner and sits next to a group of hiking lovers. Without realising that a famous actor is sitting next to them, they excitedly trade rumours and ghost stories about local hills and camping sites. Shuuichi chews his noodles with his head down, never looking away from the soup in his ramen bowl.

 

* * *

 

Of course ‘good teacher’ could mean no one else.

 

Depending on whether you are standing, walking or kneeling, a kyudo apprentice must follow different rules while changing direction — according to _that person_.

 

‘Not everything in standard kyodo can apply to exorcist archery, but the basics are still helpful for beginners.’ The explanation is followed by a muffled sound of chewing.

 

Raising an umbrella or eating in the dojo is not allowed in standard kyudo. Neither is not wearing the standard attire. Shuuichi does not voice his sarcasm, but kneels down and practises moving his knees on the wooden floor.

 

He steals a look at his ‘instructor’, who is dressed in a black kimono as always. The black-and-white umbrella is again concealing the upper part of _that person_ ’s face, but it does not hide the mouth devouring a skewer of hanami dango one by one.

 

The pink one goes first (ume). Then the white one (sweet glutinous rice). And finally the green one disappears into _that person_ ’s jaws (mugwort).

 

Shuuichi looks away, faces ahead and practises standing up. The body must be kept erect and not bend forward.

 

‘That’s it for the fundamental forms. Next is the eight stages of shooting.’

 

‘Does it involve umbrellas?’ Shuuichi cannot stop himself from asking. In addition to the lifeless, hand-held umbrella, a horde of karakasa kouzo have invited themselves into the dojo, forming a ring and watching Shuuichi practise with their large round eyes. When _that person_ does not respond and Shuuichi sits in the middle of his spectators looking like a fool, he adds hesitantly, ‘… Sensei?’

 

He immediately regrets it when he hears the giggle coming from under the umbrella.

 

When the hand holding a dango-less bamboo stick stops shaking with laughter, ‘Why do you think you have to learn this?’

 

‘… Because it will help you.’ Shuuichi is a bit thrown off by the non-answer, but it is a question he has also asked himself.

 

‘How?’

 

‘… You will tell me in due course.’

 

‘Is that so? I thought you knew already. Didn’t you accept the clan’s assignment?’

 

‘… Yes.’

 

‘To exorcise the umbrellas. And haven’t you figured out how to do it?’

 

‘I won’t do it,’ Shuuichi replies immediately. ‘And I won’t let anyone else do it.’

 

‘You should do it.’ Even with the umbrella between them, Shuuichi can feel _that person_ looking at him. Looking into him. He feels a dread dropping down his stomach. He does not want to listen anymore. ‘With the clan head’s bow. That’s the only way to do it.’

 

He does not want to. ‘The only way to let you disappear in a laugh and come back?’

 

‘The only way to exorcise successfully. I won’t be gone any other way. Don’t you want to be a proper exorcist, Shuuichi-san?’

 

_Why are you calling my name now?_

 

* * *

 

That night, Shuuichi paces around his room in a frenzy. He is not going to sleep until he sorts everything out, but this is difficult with the tornado swirling in his heart.

 

* * *

 

He is back to the dojo, but does not bother to wear the practice attire this time.

 

He picks up the heavy practice bow with both hands and hurls it at the wall. The bow clashes with a loud ‘bang’ before dropping limply on the tatami floor.

 

The practice arrows meet a similar fate, though they make much less noise as they scatter around their bulky companion.

 

He then stomps to the grass field, not even bothering to wear shoes, and pushes down the target stands one by one.

 

Shuuichi does not notice when _that person_ appears, but he is in time to see the black ponytail flying in the air, ready to leave.

 

Leaving the vandalised dojo behind, Shuuichi runs. Running is surprisingly easy when he simply follows his heart’s wishes. He will not let _that person_ go this time.

 

Shuuichi stops just an inch from bumping into _his_ back and puts his arms around the other’s waist. _That person_ does not turn to face Shuuichi, but does not walk further away.

 

Nor does _that person_ object to Shuuichi pressing a cheek against the crook of _his_ neck. The skin feels cold on Shuuichi’s cheek, but he does not release his hold. They stand like that, under the black-and-white janomegasa.

 

No others. Only the two of them, closely and quietly.

 

‘Don’t hide,’ Shuuichi murmurs, nuzzling at the cold and thin shoulder clad in black. ‘Don’t hide from me anymore, please.’ He closes his eyes, bracing himself for what he is going to say. ‘I won’t hide anymore either. I promise.’

 

‘… What do you mean?’

 

The reply brings back Shuuichi’s confidence a little. The actor in him lives to pique people’s interest, to entertain. ‘Hiding here, in our dreams. Nothing we do here is of any consequence. We can’t solve any problems here.’

 

Shuuichi stands up, his hair brushing the umbrella’s canopy. _That person_ raises the umbrella a little without a word, and without any indication of having heard what Shuuichi has said. Shuuichi holds onto a corner of the black kimono, afraid of letting go completely.

 

‘That said, it is not the only reason I won’t “exorcise” you here.’

 

Shuuichi does not think he is mistaken when he sees the grip on the umbrella handle tighten.

 

‘I won’t do it because you won’t either. You still keep “Shuu” by your side, don’t you?’

 

This makes _that person_ look at Shuuichi (finally). ‘… You remember?’ he asks, breathless due to what Shuuichi just said.

 

Shuuichi drinks in the view of the other man’s face, satisfied with the impact of his words.

 

He finally gets to see the long-hidden right eye again.

 

‘I remember. And you’re so uncreative with picking names, _Seiji_.’

 

* * *

 

That morning, not long after waking up, Shuuichi receives an expected message, delivered in the form of a human-shaped paper shiki.

 

The message, written with an ink brush and black ink, is characteristically succinct:

 

_As you wish._

_Matoba Seiji_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I first read about karakasa kozou and their long tongues, I immediately developed the image of them showing their affection to Natori enthusiastically. ;) Apparently someone just has the same thought as me. ;) Natori is really popular. What a star. ;)
> 
> I mentioned what I believe to be the traditional flavours of hanami dango, though there should be lots of new flavours to choose from in Japan right now. Or, if you buy them cheap, the three dango will come with different colours but taste exactly the same. :( But rich exorcists will probably eat the good old expensive type when they can, eh?
> 
> If certain details in this chapter and the previous one look related, this may be intended. ;) The truth will be revealed in the next and final chapter, which will be posted in two weeks. In the meanwhile, I'd be more than happy to hear what you think of the story so far! :)


	4. Jade Butterflies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In one world, Matoba and Natori watch butterflies fly above a lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This song](https://youtu.be/9viavzAf20o) is actually the original inspiration for Floating Paper Nights, though as the story expanded, I think it fits this final chapter more. The song title can be translated as 'Jade Butterfly'. :)
> 
>  **Warning** : This chapter contains brief description of near-drowning.

That night, Matoba Seiji and Natori Shuuichi meet not in the illusionary world of slumber, but next to the lake they fought two ayakashi together two weeks ago.

 

Matoba is early. When Natori arrives, he is already sitting on a rock and staring into the water with an electric torch in hand. Sensing another flash of torch light, he turns and watches the other exorcist approach without a word.

 

Soon Natori is before him. As he sits down beside Matoba, he glances at the many long-necked, white-faced Matoba clan shiki surrounding the lake, each of which holds a long paper lantern. Matoba takes in the observation quietly too.

 

Natori gives another look at the shiki before turning. ‘Matoba-san,’ he greets simply and softly, with a small nod in the head. Matoba wonders if those eyes have lingered on his own a bit longer than necessary.

 

Meanwhile, Natori is observing Matoba’s perennial thin smile, which has widened a little but looks as opaque as before. The red left eye, the one that is not concealed, is obstinately inscrutable.

 

‘Natori.’ Matoba’s reply is as simple as his greeting, and Natori thinks there is probably no deeper meaning in it.

 

Matoba looks away, and they listen to the sound of the waterfall in silence.

 

‘I heard a few days ago that this place is in fact very near a popular hiking trail. We were lucky to not have met any unknowing hikers last time.’ Matoba points his torch light at the approximate direction of the hiking trail. ‘Now that we know this, it’s preferable to schedule our work at night. As long as you don’t doze while chanting a spell.’

 

‘I won’t doze.’

 

Natori is trying to meet Matoba’s eyes again, but Matoba is more interested in watching his torch shining on the dark water. He can also hear his own voice vibrate in the air very, very clearly. ‘Take a look at the lake,’ he says.

 

Natori turns away, so Matoba finally has a chance to observe him.

 

Matoba watches Natori bend forward, one hand supporting himself on the rock and one hand holding the torch. Watches him blink in surprise when he sees his own reflection in the lake.

 

‘The hikers in the ramen house said there were no reflections, but I still see myself…’

 

‘So do I, but we’re probably the only two. None of them,’ Matoba motions his chin at his shiki, ‘nor their lanterns are reflected. Instead there’s something that _shouldn’t_ appear.’

 

Not far from Natori’s reflection is that of a tree, a non-descript species that neither man can recognise. With the night cool and windless and the water surface unmoving, Natori can clearly discern every branch and leave in the reflection. As if he is seeing the tree up close in the real world. As if the reflection is inviting him to join it underwater, to venture where lantern lights cannot touch, to shine next to it while encompassed by darkness.

 

‘There’s a reflection, but nothing to be reflected.’ Matoba’s cool commentary jolts Natori back to reality. He looks at where the reflection’s counterpart should be, and sees only a bare trunk split into two halves. The tree they saw sprouting from the rocks two weeks ago was destroyed by lightning that very same night.

 

‘Is the tree an ayakashi?’ Natori voices the first idea that comes to his mind.

 

‘Jumping into the lake when thunder struck, and becoming an illusion to escape death? Possibly,’ says Matoba. ‘Exorcising an illusion will be tricky. Anything we drop into the water will likely just cause a ripple, and the reflection will still stay. Short of sucking the lake dry — difficult given the waterfall — our best shot would be to find out the tree’s name and cast our spell on that name.’

 

‘Hold on… We’re exorcising it?’

 

‘Are we not?’

 

The two exorcists look at each other again, Matoba still with that smile he always has, Natori still with that searching look he has developed for this very night.

 

‘It doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s just trying to survive. There’s nothing wrong in that,’ Natori argues.

 

‘Unfortunately even those without the sight are noticing something strange. The next group of hikers that pass by this lake may not treat it as lightly as the last ones. Isn’t it our duty as exorcists to prevent the spread of fear among those who cannot see?’

 

Natori feels a frustration he does not understand. ‘Can we persuade it to move? If it stays somewhere people won’t notice, there’ll be no need to exorcise it.’

 

‘Then we’ll keep having those dreams. Isn’t it you who said we shouldn’t be hiding there?’

 

 _That’s not what I meant_ , Natori wants to argue, but Matoba speaks again.

 

‘— And do you really enjoy being a shiki every other night, Natori?’

 

Silence.

 

Matoba changes topic. ‘You may try sending your shiki to ask around the youkai here. See if any of them knows the tree’s name. The white-faced can’t do that and I haven’t brought any of the clansmen’s shiki.’

 

The ease with which Matoba brings up the dreams and drops the topic stings, but Natori agrees to send his shiki for intelligence. Whether they choose to exorcise or banish the tree ayakashi, they will need to know its name.

 

Catching Natori peering at the white-faced after his own shiki leave, Matoba says, ‘These shiki, despite their limitations, never talk behind the clan head’s back. Not surprising, since they don’t talk.’

 

An unimpressed look is what Natori gives Matoba in response to his attempt at joking. He then stands up to inspect the remains of the real tree. Matoba invites himself to do the same, picking up his bow and carrying it on his back.

 

‘Why did we have those dreams?’ Natori asks as he shines his torch light on some tree branches scattered on the rocks. ‘Simply because we came close to the tree ayakashi that day?’

 

‘Is there another explanation?’

 

‘… I guess not,’ Natori admits as he switches direction. Matoba follows. ‘But why weren’t the dreams from the tree’s point of view? This is different from the other dreams I’ve had of youkai.’

 

Natori takes a few steps closer to the waterfall. When he notices Matoba doing the same without answering his question, he turns and gives the other man a confused stare.

 

Matoba blinks. Then he rectifies the awkward silence by asking, ‘How much do you remember in the dreams? And out of them?’

 

Now it is Natori’s turn to look at the other exorcist strangely.

 

Matoba thought he asked a question, not started a staring match, but it is best to not look away.

 

‘Is there something you want to know?’ Natori throws the ball back. ‘Something specific?’

 

Matoba moves to inspect the waterfall, his torch light shining a white oval on the falling water. His smile never cracks. ‘I was always aware of dreaming, and always remembered the dreams, no matter where I was. While being an exorcist, I remembered being another exorcist and an ayakashi. While being non-human, I remembered being two versions of Matoba Seiji — although the ayakashi was also Matoba Seiji, in a way.’

 

 _So you were aware all the time…_ The heat in Natori's cheeks embarrasses him as he replays the dreams in his mind. ‘I didn’t realise I was dreaming at first, but the memories gradually returned in the later dreams… Still, they were clearer in the dreams where I was an exorcist, and very fuzzy in the other one.’ Whoever can see youkai more clearly, will also be able to see through the dreams more easily. That makes sense. A lot. He should have shared this conclusion aloud, but his palpitating heart makes him say this — ‘But back in reality, I remember both dreams. Always.’

 

_Uh oh._

 

Matoba had assumed otherwise until last night. He had acted in the belief that Natori would not remember anything once he woke up. And now Natori is looking at him.

 

Ah, it does not matter. He will end this soon.

 

‘Despite knowing they were dreams, I still got lost in them. Troublesome, isn’t it?’ He looks at Natori, anticipating what the answer will be. ‘The sooner we deal with this youkai, the sooner we can put an end to this.’ To wanting freely.

 

Matoba’s resolute tone comes as a shock to Natori. But what else does his expect? It was he himself who said that they should solve the problem in the real world.

 

‘… You’re right.’ Natori says eventually. ‘You’re carrying a whole clan on your shoulder in daytime already. You shouldn’t have to live two more lives at night.’ On the other hand, Natori, who drifts from one role to another every day, dissects his new roles at night with an actor’s vigour and assimilates into his characters’ thoughts and feelings. (He understands them so well, so easily, because he allows himself to act as himself.)

 

At the end, he receives a bouquet of flowers for completing all his shots and is pushed to a new script with a new role.

 

Matoba has no response. He is not an actor, but he will miss playing hide-and-seek games at night — the version where he plays with his own shiki, and the version where he has overly friendly umbrellas as cronies. Should he have done more or done less when he could, to give himself memories to miss? ‘Shall we check the river downstream?’

 

Natori nods, and the two exorcists begin walking to the other side of the lake, each with their own heavy thoughts.

 

What a perfect moment for something to fall from high sky into the lake. The violent splash is as high as several persons' height and as loud as a bomb.

 

Several Matoba shiki standing near the explosion are thrown onto the ground. Their lanterns fall on the hard rocks and go out.

 

Water flies in all directions. Both exorcists step back and put an arm up against the sudden gush of wind. When they reopen their eyes, they see something moving in the lake and quickly run over to the spot on land closest to it.

 

A small kappa is struggling to keep itself afloat.

 

Perhaps the fall is too strong even for an aquatic youkai, so the kappa’s next move is to paddle towards the shore. When it lands about a minute later, it pants heavily and lies on its back with its webbed limbs outstretched, eyes staring blankly at the sky, completely unaware that two humans — exorcists, even — are observing its pathetic appearance.

 

Matoba shines his torch directly at its face, making the youkai yelp and jolt up at the sudden brightness.

 

It yelps even louder as the two humans kneel down. Its voice is very croaky — perhaps it is an elderly kappa (even though all kappa look the same to both men). ‘What do I see here?!?! I see One Paper Exorcist!! A-And One MATOBA!!!! What can I do?! Suiten-sama! Suijin-sama! I’m your Faithful Kappa! Save me!!!!’

 

One Paper Exorcist raises his voice to be heard. ‘I don’t exorcise youkai that don’t hurt human. Did you hurt any human?’

 

The kappa pauses its pleading to the water gods to humph like an offended grandpa. ‘Of course I didn’t! I’ve lived in this mountain for Nine Hundred Thirty-nine Glorious Years In Peace! Five Hundred Fifty-six Magnificent Years in this lake! All In Peace!’ it mumbles unceasingly.

 

The kappa turns to leave, but Natori catches hold of its arm despite its terrified squeal. ‘Please hide later. I won’t exorcise you. And he…’ Natori glances at Matoba, who is watching the scene with interest ( _the git_ , Natori secretly thinks) and shows no intention to interfere. ‘And he isn’t here to exorcise you tonight either. You said you live in the lake?’

 

‘In Peace! Five Hundred Fifty-six Magnificent Years! When I was First Here —’

 

‘Do you know anything about the tree over there? It was destroyed by lightning about two weeks ago.’

 

‘What is two weeks when _I’ve_ lived in this lake In Peace for Five Hundred Fifty-six Magnificent Years! When I was First Here —’

 

‘No, if you want to live in peace after this, just tell me about the tree. It’s now in the lake. You can see that, right? Is it related to why you fell down just now?’

 

‘Five Hundred Fif — WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!?!?!?!’

 

Natori turns and finds Matoba standing with his hands clasped and legs shoulder-width apart — a stance ready for spells. Natori throws him a questioning look.

 

Matoba ignores it. He says to the kappa, ‘you heard him. If you want to live In Peace after this, talk about The Tree.’

 

To Natori’s frustration, Matoba’s way works — to an extent.

 

‘There is nothing to talk about the tree! The tree is nothing Special. It wasn’t even thirty years old when the storm ended it!’

 

The two exorcists glance at each other, noticing the bad sign for what it is. When something this young turns into an ayakashi, it is usually due to some external, often malignant, forces.

 

‘Does it have a name?’

 

‘Name? You asked the same question as that violent woman! Is it also “for Master”?’

 

‘Violent woman?’

 

‘She threw me down here! Always talked over me and said she needed to find out the tree’s name “for Master”. I said I wouldn’t bother to name such a commonplace tree, but if she liked trees, I’ve seen many great ones in the past Nine Hundred Thirty-nine Glorious Years — then she threw me down here! Ungrateful violent woman with no Patience! You know what, in the past Nine Hundr —’ the green youkai clams up at the sound of Matoba clasping his hands together again, and silently becomes even greener in the face.

 

Natori is certain that it was one of his shiki who threw the kappa down the waterfall, for the exact same reason Matoba now wants to curse it. ‘Well, you could use a lesson or two in winning a lady’s heart,’ he says just a little flippantly, and is immensely satisfied by the stares offered by the kappa and Matoba. ‘And you don't need to walk home now. Isn’t that convenient?’

 

He is going to ask about the tree again, but the old kappa says unexpectedly, ‘Walk home? Meh, I was finding a new home upstream, that was what I was doing! Now I have to go all the way up again!’

 

‘A new home?’

 

‘A new home for Kappa Me!’

 

‘Why? Did something go wrong with this lake?’

 

‘Wrong! Very, very wrong! The lake has changed ever since that worthless tree died! Now the water feels all strange, no creature wants to live here anymore. The fish have all gone downstream, but Kappa Me, I’m looking at The Way Up.’

 

The youkai holds its chin up proudly, but if it expects praise, it is going to be sorely disappointed. ‘“The water feels all strange” — what does that mean?’ Natori is more alarmed than ever. Not only is the tree ayakashi exceptionally young, but it is also powerful — moving into water, causing dreams, and now even creating disturbances in its new host. If it is also as vicious as he and Matoba think it may be…

 

‘The lake is cold and sad all the time now! You’ll feel cold and sad too if you are in it! But why should I feel cold and sad all the time? I’ve been through Nine — welp —’ the kappa glances at Matoba. ‘— I live to be Suiten-sama’s Happy and Faithful Kappa, not be cold and sad!’

 

‘Of course, of course,’ Natori murmurs his agreement tiredly and pats the kappa on the shoulder. Despite how old its voice sounds, the youkai certainly has a youthful heart. ‘I won’t stop you from being happy and faithful. Just one last question before you go: Are you sure you don’t know the name of the tree?’

 

‘No name! No name for commonplace trees!’ the kappa insists. It then pauses, as if remembering something, and adds, ‘Well, if you want names, this lake’s name is Harena. In Harena I’ve lived for Five Hundred Fifty-six Magnificent Years! And this mountain’s name is Ukishizu. In Ukishizu I’ve lived for Nine Hundred Thirty-nine Glorious Years!’

 

Upon this declaration, the kappa leaves in slow but large, confident steps. Then it suddenly remembers the danger of mentioning years, throws another fearful glance at Matoba (who smiles), squirms and runs into the woods.

 

‘As if we didn’t know the names of those places already… If we needed those names, we could simply read the maps,’ Natori makes the exasperated comment while stretching his legs a little, after kneeling down for several minutes. Then he looks at Matoba and finds that the other man is still smiling. ‘You seem to enjoy handing out life threats.’

 

‘I did what was necessary,’ Matoba replies. ‘Though if someone who has lived right here for five hundred years doesn’t know the name of the tree, I doubt your shiki will have more success.’

 

Natori frowns, and then turns back. Matoba watches him walk towards the Harena Lake again, and goes after him.

 

Natori sighs, and Matoba wonders if he feels tired — it is already night, after all. His thoughts then drift to his ( _his?_ ) Poltergeist Umbrella Gang, who appeared the night before.

 

If they do not solve this before they rest, they will be dreaming of Shiki Shuu tonight.

 

Seeing ‘Shuu’ again would be awkward, now that Matoba knows Natori is only oblivious in the dreams but not out of them. (He is suddenly aware of his lips' contact with his own index finger. He drops his hand immediately.) But wouldn’t it be nice to see Shuu again? He still wants to know what Shuu will do to him. ‘Natsume Takashi’ claims that his ‘shiki’ is in fact a gigantic, damaged paper figure. What makes someone like Natori Shuuichi crawl back from death and haunt Matoba Seiji, by posing as his shiki?

 

‘Matoba-san?’ Natori’s voice — the real one, in the real world — jolts him out of his little reverie. He is never going to find out the answer, no matter how much he wants to know; he knows that much. ‘You said you always realised you were dreaming in those dreams.’

 

‘Yes.’

 

‘Then perhaps you would also know more about them than I do. In the dream where you… were with those kozou, did you know why you turned into… why you came back?’

 

Natori will not know he is shocked because he is not going to show it. Hearing Natori ask the same question he is asking ( _Why did you come back?_ ) makes him want to stare fixedly at his own reflection in the lake, just next to Natori’s one, so this is what he does. ‘No. No idea.’

 

‘I see.’ Oblivious to what Matoba is thinking, Natori lowers his head, feeling awkward asking the other exorcist something like this. ‘I… I just wonder what reason there could be.’ Do the things in their dreams even happen for any reason? Maybe not, but he inexplicably wants there to be a reason, and inexplicably wants to find it out. ‘Maybe we would find it out if the dreams continued… but of course they need to stop. The sooner we get that tree out of the lake, the better,’ Natori says softly, also opting to inspect their reflections rather than look at the other man directly. This is a far more enticing activity than facing what he must do.

 

Their reflections are clear on the still surface of the lake. Surrounded by dark water, the two of them stand side by side, Natori dressed in green and Matoba in purple. Natori’s lizard crawls up speedily and disappears under his fringe on the left side — or the right side from the reflection’s perspective. Similarly, Matoba’s bow and eyepatch switch sides in the water.

 

Other than that, the reflections are exactly their equivalent.

 

‘Matoba-san?’

 

The urgency in Natori’s voice makes Matoba look up sharply. ‘What?’ he skims his surrounding, his sense of alert full-on for any danger to come.

 

‘Your seal was on the left eye in the dream, did you know? Not in the one where I’m a youkai, but the one where you are.’

 

‘Was it? I didn’t pay much attention to my own face in that dream. I was more concerned about hiding it from you.’

 

Matoba is still thinking about what this discovery means when he hears a violent howl. Large water claws emerge from the surface and in a split second Natori is dragged into the lake. He grabs Natori’s wrist by instinct, but only ends up falling with him — they are both dragged into the lake.

 

Matoba sees the shock and fear in Natori’s eyes just before clamping his own shut.

 

The plunge into water almost knocks Matoba away but he holds onto his grip. Much better to focus on this task alone, rather than on the cold and heavy pressure around him, or the impossibility to breathe.

 

Then he feels several hands grappling at his back and the bow, trying to grab a hem of his clothes — the Matoba shiki are acting on their instinct to save the clan head from danger. After several empty snatches and a painful pull at the ponytail, hands finally get hold of Matoba’s waist before he sinks too deeply to catch. Matoba tightens his grip on Natori.

 

The Matoba shiki, each wrapping its arms around another’s waist and forming a chain from the lake to mid-air, do not understand why it is so difficult to pull one man out of water.

 

With his eyes shut as tightly as he can, Natori feels two forces pulling him from opposite directions — the water claws are dragging him down, down, down, while a hand around his wrist is trying to pull him up. He cannot see but feels it when the shiki add their strength to the upward haul.

 

What he feels more strongly, however, is coldness. The water is so cold it stings, consuming him and sucking his body warmth away. He feels how the other hand almost loses its grip in this iciness and squeezes again, almost loses and squeezes again, each time swaying a little further away. Natori wants to catch that hand with his own, so that they will never be apart again.

 

But if the coldness is numbing him, it must be more painful to the person who is trying so hard to hold onto him. It will only end in them both sinking and dying in this lake.

 

So Natori breaks loose from the hand he must let go.

 

Hearing underwater is difficult, so Natori satisfies himself with imagining the sound of Matoba Seiji safely being lifted out of the lake.

 

There is nothing pulling him upward now. He makes the mistake of trying to breathe and receives an electrifying hot pain in the lungs. He flails, trying to hold his breath again as the claws on his legs continue to drag him down, down into the bottom of this deep, dark coldness.

 

‘ _… MISS …_ ’

 

As Natori struggles between the desire to breathe and the desire to keep water out of his body, he hears a deep, low voice.

 

‘ _… MISS …_ ’

 

A voice that fuses with the water.

 

‘ _… DON’T … TAKE … AWAY … -ON’T … -AKE … AWAY …_ ’

 

He ought to feel fear, but is instead engulfed by a grief that seeps through his clothes and bleeds into his skin and bones. A grief that saps away his energy and will to struggle.

 

‘Cold and sad’, the kappa describes this grief so simply, but he knows it. He knows this grief. He felt the very same when he sat in front of Nanase-san that day, still as a statue, realising that Matoba Seiji would never come back.

 

No, Matoba Seiji _has_ come back, as the wicked leader of the playful karakasa kouzo army.

 

 _No_ , Matoba Seiji is never gone. He has been safely carried to land by his shiki. He is safe.

 

Natori opens his eyes slowly. Slow enough to avoid having water enter his eyes.

 

Apart from a blurry mass of light from the world above water, Natori also sees something that does not exist outside of this lake.

 

The nameless tree, which the kappa on earth had scorned for its youth before thunder took its life away, looks gorgeous underwater. It looks exactly like it is at its prime — its wood upright and proud, its green leaves lavish and lustrous like jade.

 

Nothing could have created such a clear and vibrant image underwater. Nothing could even have created any image, after the tree on land was killed in that stormy night.

 

Nothing except the lake’s loving memories.

 

‘ _… MISS … DON’T … TAKE … AWAY …_ ’

 

The ayakashi they have been seeking is not the tree but the lake. The lake which fell in love with the tree standing by its side. The lake which went into denial after the storm and created a shadow of its love. The lake which is now raging when someone wants to take even the shadow away.

 

At least Natori can delight himself with one thing in this ‘cold and sad’ water.

 

_He beats Matoba Seiji in dying from ayakashi wrath._

 

He can no longer hold his breath. The scorching pain in the lungs returns.

 

* * *

 

Matoba collapses on the ground. The knot on his back loosens and his bow falls to the ground with a thud, but he pays it no mind. The cold water makes him shiver, and the exorcism spell he just cast with little physical and mental preparation makes him pant from exhaustion. He may also be shaking because the shiki are still underwater, executing his command to rescue the drowning man.

 

If they are too late…

 

He knows how he will feel if they are too late. He has felt it every other night in the past two weeks. Even the awareness of it being a dream cannot soften the pain or the frantic urge — an urge to hold on to _something_ that resembles what was lost.

 

If he cannot trust the Matoba shiki to find someone outside of the clan in time, he hopes Natori’s own servants will be capable at saving their own master. Those three returned to the lake while Matoba was casting the spell, and all plunged into water without a word after it was completed. Matoba can only assume that their connection with Natori has informed them adequately.

 

He never looks away from the lake as he sits on one of the large rocks. The exorcised lake (‘Harena’, such is the name he used in the spell) has gone back to being an ordinary body of water. No longer refusing to reflect anything but an illusory tree, and no longer capable of dragging people down with claws. Still lethal to human, nevertheless.

 

The shiki come out of the lake and land next to Matoba. He hears the coughing before the shiki step away just a little to reveal the man they bring along. His shoulders relax upon seeing that Natori is still conscious.

 

Matoba watches Natori cough. Multiple thoughts fleet through his mind, including how long it took him to comprehend the situation and complete the spell (he never counted the time, but the spell was not particularly long by exorcists’ standard), whether the shiki know what they are doing by holding and patting Natori like that, and whether he even knows anyone who can help a near-drowning victim.

 

But mostly, he just watches Natori cough.

 

When the coughing reduces to panting, he keeps on watching.

 

At some point, his fingers move to his pocket and take out a paper shiki. He numbly registers the soaked paper’s inability to transmit any messages. Then he picks something out of the same pocket again, this time a wet and dead mobile phone. He drops it and goes back to watching motionlessly.

 

When the rhythm of panting stabilises, Matoba watches Natori’s newest shiki (Hiiragi?) fly away. He crawls to the gap, his eyes never leaving the still-panting man.

 

Natori, leaning on his curly-haired shiki (Sasago?) and resting his head on the shiki’s shoulder for support, is also watching him through half-closed eyes.

 

He watches as Matoba places a hand on his cheek.

 

‘T- The… -oukai?’

 

‘Taken care of. Hush.’

 

Natori feels weak and cold, and Matoba’s wet hand does nothing to warm him. But he still moves his head a little closer, to feel the cold touch more fully.

 

‘Master.’

 

Natori moves only his eyes to see Hiiragi back at his side.

 

‘I’ve made a fire. Let’s get warm there.’

 

Before Natori can respond, Matoba scoops him up and carries him to the fire. Natori takes it as proof that the other man is not as badly affected as he is. It makes sense, as Matoba was only underwater for a very short time, but that does not make Matoba's dark purple hoodie any less drenched or any more comfortable to lean on.

 

Natori leans anyway. Matoba can probably use some of that fire himself.

 

The fire is just outside the ring of rocks surrounding the lake. There is a small pile of leaves and branches under the flame, which is lighted with one of the Matoba shiki’s lanterns. Hiiragi stays until both men are settled beside the warmth, and then departs to collect more fuel from the mountain.

 

The fire is not much when both men are still drenched in their wet clothes, outdoors, in the middle of the night. But it is better than nothing. They both lean as close to the fire as they can, and Matoba slowly feels his numbness fade and his wits return.

 

Enough for him to raise a critical eyebrow when one of his own shiki, which has stayed in the water much longer than it should have done, hands him a pair of broken glasses.

 

He instructed his shiki to find a man, and this one found him a man’s eyeglasses. Now that he is thinking more clearly thanks to the warm fire, he orders the shiki floating next to it to contact the nearest Matoba clansmen.

 

Natori turns his face to him at this moment, still pale, but no longer deadly so. Matoba hands the eyeglasses to him.

 

The glasses, which Natori does not remember being washed away (not that _that_ was the most important task underwater), have their lenses intact but only one temple left, and both nose pads are askew.

 

‘Thank you,’ Natori says meekly, though he continues to warm his hands with the fire and forgets to take the glasses back. Matoba does not remind him. Natori lets out a small sigh. ‘So the youkai had to be exorcised at the end. Even though it was just feeling sad for losing something it loved.’

 

‘Better it than me,’ Matoba says.

 

Natori blinks. ‘Humans cannot be exorcised.’ He feels unreasonably awkward and weak about his own words.

 

‘You thought I was talking about the “being exorcised” part?’

 

This has the effect of making Natori open and close his mouth like a goldfish. After a few seconds, he finally formulates a retort. ‘Your eye seal is a mess.’ He even drops the polite tone he has kept up since adulthood.

 

Matoba cannot say it is comfortable to have a wet paper sticking on his face, but he has already fixed its position since returning to land. If it still looks like ‘a mess’, he can only assume that the ink on it has dissolved, which means it now does nothing to protect its wearer.

 

(This is such an excellent time to talk and think about an eyepatch, he muses.)

 

‘Should I take it off then? Do you want to see what’s beneath?’

 

There is no point in overanalysing such a question, Natori is certain about that. So he turns to the fire, thinks longer than necessary, and turns to Matoba again. ‘I don’t mind.’

 

Their eyes connect.

 

‘… Your voice sounds terrible right now. We’ll go straight to hospital when my clansmen come to pick us up.’ Matoba takes out a paper shiki to test if he can preserve it by drying it with fire.

 

He looks up when Natori alerts him with a touch on the shoulder.

 

Something is moving above the lake he just exorcised, fluttering up and down as if it has no direction.

 

When it flies a little near the fire, Matoba motions his shiki to raise their lanterns just a little, not enough to scare it away but allowing him to discern it.

 

‘Is that a…?’

 

Matoba holds up the single temple of the eyeglasses (which are still in his hand) and positions the lenses in front of Natori’s eyes, so the other man can see through them.

 

It is a small, green butterfly, almost like a usual one, but one that glows in the night. It flies like it is drawing circles in the sky, never moving too far away from the lake.

 

Another glow lights up at one spot above the rocks. When Matoba and Natori catch sight of it, one more butterfly is sketching similar green curves in the backdrop of darkness.

 

The second butterfly flies from the dead tree to meet the first one. The two butterflies dance along, their glow pure as the finest jade.

 

They dance along.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On butterflies:
> 
> \- At the end of manga volume 9, there is an illustration of Matoba and Natori with butterflies, which I like very much.
> 
> \- When I was writing the ending, I was thinking of _Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai_ (or _The Butterfly Lover_ ), which ends in a pair of butterflies appearing from the grave of dead lovers.
> 
> \- And the beginning was written as I thought of Zhuang Zhou, who wondered if it was he who dreamt of being a butterfly or a butterfly who dreamt of being Zhuang Zhou.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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